


Keeping the Faith

by Sherylyn



Category: White Collar
Genre: De-Aged Neal Caffrey, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7160285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherylyn/pseuds/Sherylyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Near the end of Season 5, something unexpected happens. Given how Neal's life is going at that point, is that a good thing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping the Faith

**_"Even when there isn’t trust, there’s always faith._ ”**

 

 **Note:** This is set in Season 5, between episodes 11 ( _Shot Through the Heart_ ) and 12 ( _Taking Stock_ ). It picks up soon after Rachel’s call to Neal from the Metropolitan Correctional Facility. Pretend that fanfic can exist in a bubble in time between episodes or something ;-) And if the events in this story just happen to alter a few things that happen in the rest of the series, well… };-)

  The amazing cover and ending art work are courtesy of the incredible [Kanarek13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanarek13/pseuds/Kanarek13). 

~*~

~*~

Neal sat at his kitchen table, rubbing his temples. Stress didn’t often get to him, but right now, he was definitely feeling the effects of recent events: Rebecca/Rachel, Hagen, juggling everything with Peter — it was all culminating in a massive headache, to the point where he could scarcely see straight. Moz had left a short while before Rachel called, and now Neal was trying to both stop his headache and unwind enough to actually get some sleep. He finished off his glass of wine, pushed himself up from the table, and went to put his glass in the sink. He leaned against the edge of the cabinet for a moment, massaging his forehead, before heading into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and quickly stripped off his clothes while the water warmed up, then stepped inside and adjusted the spray to its hardest setting, with the water as hot as he could stand it. He stood under the hot spray, letting the pulsating water play over the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders, hoping it would help him relax enough to sleep.

Quite some time later, he shut off the water and toweled off. He re-bandaged the wound on his arm from where Rebecca’s shot had grazed him earlier in the day, and quickly finished getting ready for bed. His headache was somewhat better, but he went ahead and took some Advil, trying to make sure he’d feel better by the time Peter picked him up in the morning. 

He crawled into bed and pulled up the covers, thankful to be horizontal and hoping for sleep to come quickly… 

*

Neal woke abruptly as a flash of heat shot through him. Gasping, he sat up in bed, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. His headache was pounding, and he felt hot and achy. He groaned, then started coughing. _Great, just great_ , he thought dismally as he sagged against the pillows behind him. He tried to wipe at his face, but had to pause and shake back the sleeve of his pajama shirt to do so. 

He reached to turn on the lamp by the bed, and groaned again when he had to scoot over in the bed before he could reach it. Moving _hurt_. He frowned when the light came on, staring at his hand, which was lost in the sleeve of his pajama shirt. He held his arm out, and he wasn’t imagining it: his sleeve hung several inches past the tips of his fingers. He glanced down — the top button of his shirt was below his sternum. And his feet didn’t extend nearly far enough down the bed. 

Fighting a rising sense of panic, he moved his left foot beneath the covers, and definitely didn’t feel his anklet there. He sat up fully, pushing back the blankets and feeling beneath them. He located the anklet, but when he held it up, there was no malfunctioning light — it was glowing steadily green as usual, and the anklet was still securely fastened. He wriggled his foot free of the blankets and the leg of his pajama pants, and held up the anklet beside it. His foot wasn’t nearly its normal size, and he could easily slip the anklet over his foot and onto his ankle. _This_ can’t _be happening_ , he thought. Uncertain what else to do for the moment, he set the anklet on his bedside table. 

He carefully maneuvered himself over the edge of the bed — his feet didn’t touch the floor! — and had to hold onto his pajama pants to keep them from falling off as he shuffled toward the mirror. 

His jaw dropped open in shock and his heart began to race when he actually caught sight of himself: somehow, inexplicably, he was a child again. 

He stared into the mirror, trying desperately to make sense of what he was seeing. He had a strong sense of déjà vu, but far more unsettling. He _looked_ like he had as a child, mostly, but he certainly never even _imagined_ anything like this, even back then. _Maybe I’m dreaming? Maybe I’ve got a fever?_ His hair seemed longer than before ( _Maybe it’s the same, and it just looks longer because I’m… smaller?_ ), and his pajamas were impossibly huge on him. Yet he was, quite undeniably, not an adult at the moment. 

While he stared, he suddenly became aware of a phrase echoing through his head, “I’m eight I’m eight I’m eight I’m eight…” like some bizarre earworm. He shook his head, trying to make the crazy idea leave his brain, backing away from the mirror — and promptly tripped over his pajama pants and landed, hard, on the floor. “Owww!” he yelped before he could even think of stopping himself. His eyes opened wide at the sound of his voice: hoarse, but unmistakably a child’s. He sat up slowly, cradling his aching wrist, and was surprised when hot tears trickled down his cheeks. He swiped them away impatiently, biting his lip as he did so. 

And then froze, realizing something as he’d moved his mouth. Very slowly, he ran his tongue over his teeth, and then swore under his breath. Gaps. There were definitely gaps in his teeth. _Dammit_. 

The pain in his wrist recaptured his attention and he carefully moved his hand. His wrist hurt, but nothing seemed to be broken; the lump in his throat felt like it was choking him, though. He coughed, wincing at the way it made his throat hurt even more. He wrapped his arms around his knees, then leaned his forehead against them. He couldn’t be a kid, he just _couldn’t_. What would happen with Peter, with work? June was gone for a few days, and he was alone in the house. He could feel panic creeping up on him, and he tried to force himself to _think_. He needed to plan, to figure out how he was going to deal with this. 

First, he needed to find something to wear that wouldn’t swallow him whole. He got carefully to his feet, still cradling his right arm against his chest. With a sigh, he let the pajama pants fall to the floor and stepped out of them, his shirt hanging past the middle of his thighs. He made his way over to his wardrobe and rummaged through the drawers before locating a pair of athletic shorts and an old sweatshirt that he might be able to make work. 

He stripped off the pajama shirt and pulled on the shorts. It took some wrangling because of his wrist, but he managed to cinch the drawstring as snug as he could make it, and tried not to think about how far past his knees the shorts fell. He pulled on the sweatshirt and rolled up the cuffs until they’d stay above his wrists. 

He shivered suddenly, and realized it was much colder in his apartment than when he’d gone to sleep. He turned to another drawer, found some thick wool socks, and plopped onto the floor to pull them on. A low, distant rumble of thunder made him realize why it was colder now: it’d been raining while he was asleep. 

His wrist was aching enough that he decided to hunt down the elastic wrap he knew he had somewhere in the bathroom. Once in the other room, he looked through the drawers and shelves, but couldn’t see it anywhere. Then, finally, he looked up to the top of his linen closet — and of course, there it was, on the top shelf where it was impossible for him to reach now. 

Swearing under his breath, he looked around for a way to reach the bandage. Not seeing anything nearby, he started toward the kitchen, intending to bring a chair into the bathroom, then stopped in the hallway as inspiration struck. He went into his dressing room, grabbed a shirt hanger — trying not to think about how _high_ his clothes rod was now — and returned to the bathroom. It still took some doing, but he was finally able to catch the bandage with the hanger and knock it onto the floor. 

Wrapping his wrist was another matter entirely, though. The wound on his left arm from earlier in the day was hurting from the way he was moving while trying to wrap his right wrist. And somehow, his much smaller fingers simply wouldn’t cooperate with what his brain knew to do, especially not with his left hand. Eventually, he gave up in frustration, even though the wrapping really wasn’t done correctly; it was supporting his wrist acceptably, and it would just have to suffice. 

He glanced at the mirror above the sink, where he could just see his forehead. He rose upon his tiptoes and hesitantly bared his teeth. He hadn’t imagined it: he was missing two teeth, four others were definitely only recently grown-in, and another was loose. He groaned and shook his head. This was just getting worse and worse. 

Maybe he was hallucinating; he was definitely sick, maybe his temperature was high enough to do this? He was pretty certain he had a fever, but he didn’t have a thermometer — he knew June had one, but he certainly didn’t feel like hunting through the house for it — and not enough time had passed since he’d taken those Advil before he went to bed for him to be able to take anything else, and he had absolutely no idea how being this size would affect what he should take, either. 

Deciding he should probably make sure he drank some fluids, he went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. He drank almost half of it, then put it back in the fridge before heading toward his bed. 

He climbed back into bed, pulling the covers snugly around him. He picked up his phone from the bedside table, contemplating what he should do now. He’d never heard of anything like this happening anywhere, anytime, but if it had ever occurred, Mozzie would probably know about it. He wanted to call his friend, then remembered that Mozzie had said he would be absolutely incommunicado tonight. And if Mozzie didn’t tell him what was going on, it was pretty obvious that he was better off not knowing. He could leave a voicemail or text, but he couldn’t imagine what he could say that wouldn’t just send Mozzie into a paranoid tizzy. And a paranoid Mozzie would be less likely to stick around enough to help him. He’d wait and contact him in the morning, after he’d had longer to think things through. He rubbed his forehead; his head was hurting again, and it was even harder to think clearly. 

He scrolled through his contacts, and his thumb hovered over Peter’s name. He worried at his lip, not sure how he could possibly begin to explain to Peter, either. He really didn’t know who else to contact, but… things had been somewhat better between Peter and him the last few days, but they’d been pretty lousy before that, and he was more worried about Peter’s reaction than he was certain that he’d be willing to help. He didn’t want to ask Peter to come just because he was sick, but if he tried to tell him what was really the problem, there was no way Peter would ever believe him. Maybe, just maybe, this would disappear overnight, as suddenly as it had happened? He didn’t hold out much hope of that occurring, but maybe he should try to sleep and hope for the best. 

With a sigh, he set his phone back on the table and turned out the lamp before scooting down in the bed and settling the covers around his shoulders. He wouldn’t call anyone. He could wait and talk to Peter in the morning, after he was certain Peter and Elizabeth would be awake. No sense waking them up and possibly making Peter unhappy with him, yet again. He’d had more than enough of that lately. 

He shifted in the bed, pulling extra pillows around him, trying to find a comfortable position, but he was now aching all over, and it was harder than usual to get settled. He lay there, listening to the rain drum on the roof and the terrace, trying to quiet his brain — which kept trying to shift back into full-blown panic over this insane situation — and think of something pleasant. _Anything_ pleasant, really. 

Instead, he kept thinking of all the problems associated with his predicament. He couldn’t go to work like this, even if he wasn’t sick. And he couldn’t imagine attempting to explain this to anyone at the Bureau, other than Peter, and even that would be a challenge without Peter actually seeing him. But if he couldn’t work, wouldn’t someone at the Bureau notice he wasn’t around? And where would that lead? They couldn’t throw him back inside for this, could they? Where could they possibly put him?! He groaned in frustration and rubbed his hands over his face. This was not helping. 

He rolled over, moving his hot face to a cooler part of the pillow he was holding against his chest. He stared at the pale patterns playing over his bedroom walls. The pouring rain was distorting the usual light from outside, and made the room look eerie by comparison. He swallowed painfully, his throat tight with worry. He realized his fingers were tightly clenched on his pillow, and had to deliberately relax his muscles to release it. If he were being honest, he was more than just worried about dealing with his sudden — _What the hell do I call this, anyway?_ — _Transformation_ , his brain supplied — he was more than a little freaked out by the whole thing. To suddenly be so small, so… _vulnerable_ , even if he wasn’t sick on top of everything else. It was… well, honestly, _scary_. 

Thunder was rumbling loudly now, moving closer. He felt a frisson of fear at the sound, and frowned at the realization. _Wha—_ An exceptionally loud crack of thunder sounded, and for a second he’d have sworn that both the thunder and the blinding bolt of lightning that accompanied it had happened right on top of him. He bolted upright in bed and turned on the bedside lamp without conscious thought. Another crash of thunder made him clap his hands over his ears and dive back under the covers. His heart pounded at the combination of noise and adrenalin, and he tried to convince himself he wasn’t actually scared by the storm. But then he remembered that, as a kid, he’d been terrified of thunderstorms for years due to growing up where tornadoes were a very real possibility. 

He pulled the blankets up past his ears, trying to muffle the sounds as much as possible and just let himself go back to sleep. _Good thoughts_ , he reminded himself, _happy times. Good memories._ It wasn’t working. After a few more moments, he reached out blindly and located his phone, pulling it under the blankets where he could see it. _Maybe I can read something, or a game might distract me…_ he thought, but once he’d unlocked it, all he could do was stare again at his contacts. _I could call_ … he thought, but then, suddenly, unbidden, he heard Peter’s voice, hurtful words seeming to echo through his head: _You’re a criminal… And because you’re a criminal…_ He dropped his phone onto the bed and rubbed at his suddenly-burning eyes. S _hame on me for expecting anything else…_ Peter’s voice wouldn’t go away, now. Thunder crashed again, and he turned his face into the pillow, trying to block out the sound as well as the memories. _Don’t volunteer to take him on; trust me, you’ll regret it…_  

He clutched at his pillow, realizing just how very much he was scared and alone, tired, sick, and quite thoroughly miserable in multiple ways. Thunder rattled, and rain pounded against the windows and roof. 

And Neal buried his face in his pillow and cried. 

~*~

 “Neal?” A warm hand gripped his shoulder. “Hey, buddy, wake up.” The hand jostled him again. “C’mon, Neal.” 

Neal pushed himself onto his side as he groaned and then rubbed his eyes with one hand. “Pet’r?” he croaked. He blinked at his hand as he got his eyes open properly. _Crap. Still a kid_. 

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s okay,” Peter said quietly. The warm hand stroked across his shoulders. 

Neal looked up, wondering how Peter was going to react to this development. Before he could think of anything coherent to say, Peter blurted, “So… you’re a kid, huh? Or are you some random kid that just happens to look like you?” 

Neal groaned and shook his head. “No, I-I woke up like this. I didn’t do anything, Peter, I swear! I just—” 

Peter held up a hand to quiet him. “I didn’t think you did. I can’t imagine even you doing this on purpose.” 

Neal shook his head, rubbed his hand over his face, and looked at Peter blearily. “Time’s it?” he asked, hoping to change the subject. 

Peter gave him an indulgent smile. “A little after 6:30. I was early, but I guess that’s a good thing. You didn’t answer your phone, so I let myself in.” 

Pale morning light was spilling into the room, and his bedside lamp was still on, making him squint as he peered up at Peter. “S-sorry,” Neal murmured, pressing the heel of one hand against his aching forehead. “Th-thought I set an alarm… Was going to call you.” 

Peter arched an eyebrow. “And say what, exactly?” 

Neal groaned and shoved himself upward against the bank of pillows at the head of the bed. “That I’m sick and can’t go to work.” He leaned his elbow on his knees, and his forehead against his hand. 

“Ah.” Peter gave him an appraising look, then said, “I don’t think ‘sick’ is the only reason you can’t go to work.” Neal shot him a “ _Seriously_?” look from beneath his hand, but Peter plowed on. “Do you have any idea what happened?” 

Neal shook his head. “Not a clue. I had a headache when I went to bed, but I was normal. Then I woke up to… _this_.” He waved his free hand. 

“What time did you wake up?” Peter asked. 

Neal stared at him for a moment, not sure why he’d ask that question, but then answered, “Um… 2:30, maybe? I don’t really remember,” he croaked. His voice was growing more hoarse the more he talked. 

“Was that when you realized you were sick?” Peter asked, leaning forward and pressing his hand to Neal’s forehead. Neal nodded. “Was your fever this high then?” 

Neal shrugged. It hurt to talk, and he didn’t want to do it any more than necessary. “Dunno. Don’t have a thermometer, didn’t feel like looking for June’s.” 

“Understandable. Did you take anything for it?” 

Neal shook his head, but Peter looked like he was about to press him on that. “I took some Advil for my headache a little before midnight. It was too soon to take anything else, and I had no idea how much to take, either.” 

“Ah, okay. El’s getting you something for that.” Before Neal could ask him what he meant about Elizabeth, Peter nodded toward Neal’s wrist. “What’d you do there?” 

Neal felt his face grow even hotter. “Tripped,” he muttered, not looking at Peter. “My pajamas were too big.” 

Peter just nodded. “Mind if I take a look at it? I can re-wrap it if you want.” 

Neal held out his hand. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

“Sure.” Peter gently unwrapped the elastic bandage. “Do you think you broke anything?” he asked as he ran his fingers over Neal’s wrist and hand. 

Neal shook his head. “I can move it okay, it’s just sore.” He wriggled his fingers as proof. 

“That’s good,” Peter responded as he began carefully re-wrapping the bandage. “Any idea how old—?” 

“Eight,” Neal answered. Peter arched a brow at him, so he elaborated. “It was what was stuck in my head when I woke up. It’s really all I have to go on, but it seems about right.” 

Peter nodded. “Right. So…” he said slowly, “why didn’t you call us?” Neal ducked his head and shrugged, not willing to look at Peter just then. “Neal…?” Peter prompted after a moment. 

“I…I didn’t want to wake you,” Neal finally said. Peter finished with the bandage on his wrist, but he didn’t let go of Neal’s hand. 

“I think this was unusual enough for you to wake me, don’t you?” Peter’s voice was surprisingly gentle. 

“You-you wouldn’t’ve believed me,” Neal answered, staring down at the neatly wrapped bandage on his wrist. 

“Neal…” Peter began, but Neal interrupted. 

“You wouldn’t have!” The raw emotions from when he’d been awake before washed over him. “If I woke you up and told you I was a kid, the only reason you might’ve come over was so you could strangle me for waking you up for something stupid! Don’t you think I _wanted_ —” He was interrupted when he started coughing uncontrollably. Peter patted him on the back for a moment, then got up and hurried to the kitchen for a glass of water. He returned a moment later, sat down beside Neal and held the glass in front of him. 

“Just sip at it; it’ll help,” Peter instructed as he wrapped an arm around Neal and helped him hold the glass to avoid spilling it all over the bed. Neal was finally able to sip enough water to stop coughing, and he sagged tiredly against Peter’s shoulder as he struggled to catch his breath. 

“Okay?” Peter asked after a moment, and Neal nodded, swiping his hand over his face; he’d coughed so hard his eyes had watered profusely, and he could still feel the tear tracks on his cheeks. 

“Listen,” Peter began as Neal shifted so that he wasn’t leaning on Peter so much, “I’ve packed you a bag with pajamas and sweats and stuff from the bathroom. Anything else you want to take back to our place?” 

Neal looked at him blankly. “Wh-what…?” he asked after a moment, when it became obvious Peter wasn’t going to explain. 

“I’m taking you home with me. Is there anything else you want to take with you?” Peter answered. 

“B-but… what about work — don’t you need to go to work?” Neal managed. 

Peter shook his head. “I’m taking you home—” When Neal started to interrupt, Peter cut him off. “I wouldn’t leave you alone with a fever this high even if you were still an adult. I’m taking you home, and Jones is sending over some files later with one of the probies. It’ll be fine.” He patted Neal’s foot through the covers. 

Neal swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. “I—” He stopped abruptly as he remembered something, and turned toward his bedside table, panic rising in him. “Peter—” He leaned around Peter and reached for the anklet, sitting by some books on the table, but Peter beat him to it. 

“Ah. Wondered where it’d gone,” Peter said calmly, slipping it into the pocket of his suit jacket. 

“I-I didn’t — Peter, I _swear_ —” he began, hoping to defuse the explosion he was sure was coming, but Peter cut him off. 

“ _Neal_. It’s okay. I know it won’t stay on now, anyway,” Peter said, just as calmly, as he patted Neal’s knee this time. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Neal stared at him for a moment, not quite believing what he was hearing. “Y-you’re sure?” he asked uncertainly. 

“Positive. Now, do you want to take anything with you to our house?” Peter reiterated. 

Grateful for the change in subject, Neal pointed out a few books, sketch pad and art supplies he wanted, and Peter dutifully began gathering them up while Neal made his way toward the bathroom. When he hesitantly asked if he could bring his pillow, Peter didn’t blink. “Sure. Everyone wants something familiar when they’re sick.” 

Once he’d returned to his living area, Peter held up one of Neal’s leather jackets; it was snuggly fitted, with ribbed cuffs and bottom. “I thought this might stay on you okay,” Peter offered. Neal slid his arms into the sleeves and Peter rolled up the cuffs as much as possible, then zipped it up when Neal couldn’t get his hands far enough out of the sleeves to do so. As they started out the door of the apartment, Peter began, “Now, I’m going to help you down the stairs—” Neal opened his mouth to respond, but Peter talked right over him. “Don’t argue. I’m not taking a chance on you falling that far, especially not at this size. And I’m carrying you to the car.” 

“ _Peter_!” Neal protested. 

“Don’t even think about it. It’s been raining, you have no shoes, and you’re sick. I win.” Peter slung the duffel bag he’d packed over his shoulder, then took hold of the collar of Neal’s jacket as they started down the stairs. 

Neal grumbled under his breath as they descended the stairs, but by the time they’d reached the front door, he was far more glad of Peter’s assistance than he wanted to admit. Peter had shifted his grip from Neal’s collar to his upper arm about halfway down the stairs, and Neal had been silently grateful for the reassuringly strong grip. He felt shaky and weak, and he didn’t offer even a token protest when Peter picked him up and carried him across the wet sidewalk toward the car. 

Peter opened the door, dropped the duffle bag into the front floorboard, then flipped the seat forward and hoisted Neal into the back seat. “Peter—” Neal began, but all he received was a mischievous grin in reply. 

“Sorry, no kids under twelve in the front seat,” Peter said, and shut the door firmly. Neal resisted the urge to stick out his tongue, and instead concentrated on getting his seat belt fastened, which was somehow far more complicated than it had any right to be.

Peter handed him his pillow as he was getting in the car. “You should probably rest if you can. It’ll take a while to get back to the house.” 

Neal nodded and lay down on the pillow as Peter started the car and pulled into traffic. Some sports talk station was playing on the radio, which was irritating but familiar. He turned up the collar on his jacket, letting it shade his eyes as he tried to tune out everything enough that he could attempt to sleep. A few minutes later, they were stopped in traffic when he heard Peter changing the radio. He was mentally preparing himself for something worse than sports talk when he heard soft jazz playing instead. He blinked his eyes open, and saw Peter looking back at him between the seats. “You okay?” he asked. Neal nodded, and Peter patted his arm. “Get some rest, buddy.” Peter gave his arm a slight squeeze, and then turned back around as traffic began moving. 

Neal closed his eyes and was soon asleep. 

~*~  
 

Neal woke when Peter unbuckled his seat belt and started to lift him from the car. “Pet’r?” he mumbled, and Peter gave a low chuckle. 

“Yeah, buddy, it’s me. Here,” Peter draped his own overcoat over Neal as he settled him on his hip. A light rain had started, and Peter pulled the coat over Neal’s head as he walked toward the house. Neal sleepily draped his arms around Peter’s neck and rested his head on his shoulder. 

He was drowsily aware of when they stepped into the house. He heard Peter’s quiet, “Hey, hon,” to Elizabeth, and her soft, “Satch, not now.” Her hand pressed against Neal’s cheek as someone removed Peter’s coat — and then worked off his own jacket — but he didn’t feel like opening his eyes just then. “Oh, hon, he’s burning up. Take him up to bed, I’ll be there in a second.” There was a murmur of assent from Peter, and then they were going up the stairs. 

Peter laid him down on the guest bed and pulled the covers around him. Neal curled around his pillow, shivering slightly under the cool sheets. Someone sat down beside him and gently pushed his hair back from his face. He fought to get his eyes open and saw it was Elizabeth. 

“Hey, sweetie,” she said softly, “I’m sorry you’re so sick.” He nodded, then shivered again. He felt El shift on the bed. “Peter, hand me that blue blanket,” she said, her voice directed across the room. A moment later, she was tucking another blanket on top of him and then stroking his hair again. “Sweetie, we need to take your temperature and get you some medicine, okay?” He heard Peter leave the room as he blinked up at her and gave another nod. 

She picked up a temporal thermometer and stroked it across his forehead. “103.8,” she read out. “No wonder you feel awful. Let’s see if this can bring it down, okay?” She poured some blue liquid into a dosage cup and held it out for him. He eyed it skeptically and she smiled. “The pharmacist said it’s the best-tasting one available. We’re going to alternate it with the cherry Tylenol.” Neal scowled at the thought, but took the cup and downed the medicine, shuddering as he swallowed. Elizabeth grinned at him and held out a cup of water. “Not acceptable?” she asked as he took a drink. 

“No,” he gasped, before drinking more water. “It’s… it’s just thick and…” He shuddered again involuntarily. 

El giggled, then brushed his hair from his forehead. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny, but you’re making totally _adorable_ expressions.” Neal rolled his eyes, then stuck out his tongue at her before he had time to suppress the impulse. She just laughed at him. “Watch it, mister. Don’t antagonize your nurse.” 

He attempted to look contrite. “Sorry, Nurse ‘Liz’bef,” he said, deliberately mispronouncing her name. 

She grinned at him. “You’re hopeless,” she teased, tapping the end of his nose with her finger. “Now, important question here: what are your other symptoms, other than this fever?” 

“Um… headache, sore throat, achy. The usual, I guess.” 

“Congestion?” she asked, reaching toward the bedside table. 

“Some,” he answered. “Mostly coughing, more than anything else.” 

“Okay. Let’s try this, then.” She picked up another bottle from the table, poured some purple liquid into the cup and handed it to him. He looked at it doubtfully, and she smiled. “Sorry, sweetie, I’m afraid they’re all like that.” He nodded, steeled himself, and then swallowed the medicine as quickly as he could, already reaching for the glass of water El held out before he’d finished getting it down. 

“What did you do,” he sputtered in between gulps of water, “buy out the children’s section of the pharmacy?” 

She grinned as she took the glass from him. “Something like that. Peter didn’t know what all your symptoms were when he called, so I got a variety.” 

He lay back on the pillow and peered up at her. “Wait… when did he call you?” he asked, trying to remember hearing Peter on the phone at any point. 

“He called me right after he got to your apartment and saw you were still asleep. He was a little… surprised to find you like that.” 

Neal rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “He wasn’t the only one,” he muttered. 

“I’ll bet.” She rubbed her hand across his shoulders and then squeezed his arm. “I’m sure it was a shock to wake up like that.” He ducked his head, nodding. “You must’ve been so scared,” she added, and he looked up, surprised. She gave him a tender smile and stroked his hair. “Anyone would be, waking up like that, sweetie. I just wish you’d called us then.” 

He shook his head. “No one would have believed me. It was the middle of the night — I didn’t want to bother anyone.” 

Elizabeth looked like she didn’t agree with him, but she just said, “I know you probably aren’t very hungry, but you need to eat something. Does anything sound remotely appealing?” 

Neal closed his eyes and shook his head. The idea of food sounded thoroughly undesirable. “I’m really not hungry.” 

“Neal. Look at me.” El’s voice was gentle but compelling. With a sigh, he looked up at her. “It’s been ages since dinner, and I’d bet you haven’t eaten anything since then, have you?” He shook his head again. “You need something in your stomach so that you don’t end up nauseous on top of everything else. Now, what sounds least objectionable? I can get you eggs and toast?” Another negative head shake. “Oatmeal?” _Oh god, no_. The very idea of something thick and sweet made him queasy. “Okay, I can tell by your expression that that’s a ‘no.’ I’ve got some organic Greek yogurt and some fresh berries. How does that sound?” 

 _Less objectionable, at least._ “Um… maybe just a tiny bit, El, please? I really can’t eat much.” 

She smiled and patted his shoulder. “I’ll try not to be too generous.” She straightened his blankets as she stood, then asked, “Are you warm enough now?” He nodded, burrowing further into the pillow. “Okay, I’ll be back in a minute.” 

She left the room, but Peter slipped in as she was going through the door. He’d changed into jeans and a long-sleeved tee-shirt. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Neal replied, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“I realized I still had your phone in my pocket,” Peter said, holding it up for a moment before placing it on the bedside table and then sitting on the bed beside Neal. “How’re you feeling?” Neal shrugged, plucking at the edge of the blanket Elizabeth had draped over him and not really looking at Peter. “What’s wrong?” 

Neal shrugged again. 

“Neal?” 

He swallowed. “I just… this is just so _weird_ , I don’t really…” he trailed off uncertainly. 

Peter’s expression softened, and he squeezed Neal’s arm warmly. “Neal. Look at me a sec.” Neal looked up, meeting Peter’s gaze. “You’re still you in there, right?” Neal nodded, still not sure where Peter was going with this. “Then we’ll figure things out. I don’t know how, but we will. I’ve already taken care of both of us with work for the next couple days. Let’s just see what happens by the weekend, okay?” 

Neal nodded again, gratefully. “Thanks, Peter.” 

“Have you ever heard of anything like this happening before?” Peter asked. Neal shook his head. “Has Mozzie?” 

Neal coughed out a chuckle, amused that everyone automatically associated Mozzie with the unexpected and unusual. “I don’t know. I couldn’t contact him last night, and I… I haven’t thought of it since you showed up at my place.” 

“Does El still know how to contact him?” 

“Yeah, I think so.” 

“Okay. Then you don’t worry about it. I’ll ask El to do it.” 

As if summoned, Elizabeth appeared in the doorway with a tray. “Ask El what?” 

“Can you call Mozzie, see if he’s ever heard of something like this, or has any ideas?” Peter asked as Neal pushed himself up against the pillows and she settled the tray across his lap. 

“Sure, hon. I’ll check with him soon, when I head out to do those errands.” She gave Peter a _look_ , but Neal was too dismayed by the amount of food in front of him to try to decipher it. In addition to the fruit and yogurt he’d agreed to try, there was a small pot of tea, honey, juice, toast with butter and jam, a glass of milk and a small dish of granola. 

“Elizabeth—” he began, but she talked over him. 

“I wanted you to have some choices about what you wanted, sweetie. I thought you might want some of the granola on your yogurt, or you might try some toast, too — you only have to eat what you want though, I promise.” 

Neal was still staring dazedly at the food. “Um… thanks, El,” he replied after a moment. 

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I’ve got some errands to run, so I’m going to finish getting ready. Peter can take the tray down when you’re finished.” 

“Okay,” Neal answered, still feeling incredibly overwhelmed by the tray in front of him. 

El headed off toward the bathroom, and Peter sat down beside him. Neal looked up at him in confusion. “I — Peter, I really can’t—” 

Peter grinned and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. She won’t know what you eat, anyway. As long as you eat a few bites of something and drink some liquids, she’ll be happy.” 

“Seriously?” Neal asked skeptically. 

Peter nodded. “Seriously,” Peter answered, picking up a piece of toast and biting into it. 

Neal managed to eat most of the fruit and yogurt El had brought, a few sips of tea with honey, and all the juice. Peter polished off the toast and jam and the glass of milk, and by then, Neal could hardly keep his eyes open. 

“Get some sleep, buddy. I’ll wake you later for some more medicine,” Peter said quietly as he removed the tray from the bed and helped Neal pull up the blankets. “I’m going to be working on some files, but if you need anything, just call or text me so you won’t have to try to shout, okay?” 

Neal nodded sleepily, wrapping his arms around his pillow. “‘kay,” he murmured as Peter turned out the light behind him. 

~*~

Peter woke him again a few hours later to check his temperature and give him more of the disgusting medicines. “How do kids take that stuff?” Neal sputtered in between gulping from the glass of apple juice Peter handed him. 

Peter grinned and shook his head. “Maybe they don’t know there are less horrible options?” he suggested. 

Neal shuddered as he handed the empty glass back to Peter. “It’s child abuse. You should investigate all those companies for deliberately ruining children’s taste buds,” he grumbled as he lay down and tugged at the covers. 

Peter snorted. “I doubt anyone would take that investigation too seriously, buddy.” 

Neal muttered under his breath about the assault on his palate while Peter put the thermometer and medicine bottles in the small basket El had left on the table. Peter helped him straighten the covers, then asked, “Do you want anything else? More juice or something?” 

Neal shook his head. He was aching all over and didn’t feel like thinking about food or drink. “No, thanks.” 

“I’m going back downstairs to work on some files, but let me know if you want anything, okay?” Neal nodded, trying to get settled into the pillows. “I’ll check on you soon,” Peter added, then patted his shoulder and started to stand up. Neal caught his arm as something suddenly stirred in his memory. 

“Wait,” Neal said hoarsely, “I just remembered something.” He waited till Peter had re-settled himself on the bed and was looking at him. “Reb—I mean, Rachel called me last night.” 

Peter frowned. “What? How?” 

“She called me from jail.” Peter gave him a “ _duh_ ” look, and Neal went on, rubbing his forehead as he talked. “After I accepted the charges, I asked what her threat was. She said there was no threat, just a promise.” When Peter quirked an eyebrow at him, he finished, “‘I’ll see you soon.’” 

“What the hell did she mean by that?” Peter asked, frowning. 

Neal shook his head. “I don’t know. She hung up right after she said it.” 

Peter dragged a hand over his face. “Right. And you’re sure she was still locked up?” 

Neal blinked at him. “Um… yes. I could hear prison sounds in the background.” 

“Neal…” Peter began. 

“I _know_ those sounds,” Neal interrupted, scowling. His head was aching fiercely, and he really didn’t feel like arguing. 

Peter shook his head, now moving his hand to the back of his neck. “Neal, you should have told me this before.” 

“I know, I’m sorry — I just — I didn’t think of it earlier. I guess I was too distracted with everything since you woke me up this morning.” He was rubbing his forehead again, squinting up at Peter. The light was hurting his eyes more than it had earlier. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Peter waved his hand dismissively, but Neal could tell he was frustrated. “I just wish you’d—” He sighed gustily and patted the pockets of his jeans. “Where’s my… I left my phone…” he muttered, then abruptly stopped. “I wish you’d — I wish I’d known about this earlier. I should’ve told Jones about this first thing.” He stood up, still fumbling in his pockets. 

“I’m sor—” Neal started, but Peter waved his hand. 

“I should—” Peter sighed again, raking a hand through his hair, then spun and headed toward the door. “ _Dammit_!” 

“I’m really—” Neal began, but Peter was already heading toward the stairs. “I’m sorry! _Peter_!” Neal called after him, his voice ragged and weak. He doubted Peter even heard him, and if he did, he certainly wasn’t pausing to acknowledge his problematic CI. 

Neal lay back on the pillows, pressing both hands against the throbbing in his forehead. His eyes burned, and he clenched them shut, swallowing hard to try to alleviate his tight, aching throat. 

He should have known. Peter was so often disappointed in him lately, so frequently frustrated or angry with him. Neal was certain that, these days, Peter regretted taking him on as his CI so long ago, and now he was stuck taking care of him while he was a sick child in his guest room. 

Tears began to trickle from his eyes, and he turned his face into the pillow, trying to will them away, but he felt so bad at the moment that it was a losing battle. He wrapped his arms around his pillow, holding it tightly against his chest, and muffled his sobs into its familiar softness. 

He hated anytime Peter was mad at him, and lately, it seemed that they moved from one type of anger to another, or one level of frustration to another, and scarcely seemed capable of the affectionate teasing they’d once enjoyed. He’d had to keep so much secret from Peter lately, even when he’d have preferred to just tell the man what was going on. But he couldn’t, and oftentimes, it was as much for Peter’s peace of mind as it was for his own. 

Peter had hurt him, deeply and repeatedly, in recent months, saying things that he’d never have expected to hear from his friend’s mouth. He knew he’d upset Peter, too, in ways that Peter would never completely understand — or forgive. He wasn’t blameless, and he knew it; he’d never deluded himself on that point. 

But now, Peter and Elizabeth would be moving to D.C. in a couple of weeks, and with them, they would be taking the best semblance of a family he’d ever known. He didn’t expect them to ever forgive him enough to fully repair what they’d had before, and somehow, knowing that things would be ending in that manner hurt even more than the words that had been said, the actions that had been done. 

It was bad enough that Peter was angry at him now, but it was a type of anger that Neal knew would dissipate before long, even if it was miserable at the moment. It was far worse to know that Peter would be leaving the White Collar office and wishing he’d never accepted Neal’s deal in the first place. 

Neal’s quiet sobs were making his raw throat ache even more than before, and he glanced blearily at the bedside table to see if there was any water left in his glass. There wasn’t. He mentally swore, then grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the table. He propped himself up on an elbow, swiping at his eyes and nose with the tissues, but that didn’t stop the flow of tears. He coughed, wiping again at his completely clogged-up nose, and then started coughing and couldn’t stop. 

The ragged coughing tore at his throat, making his eyes water more, and he tried to swallow to help it stop, but he could scarcely breathe well enough to manage either swallowing or coughing. Breathing was really, _really_ difficult while coughing so hard… 

And then suddenly, Peter was there, holding him and helping him drink from a bottle of water. It seemed like it took several minutes before Neal could begin to catch his breath, and his throat felt like it was on fire. He was pretty sure he’d whimpered at least a few times during his coughing fit, and he was really hoping Peter hadn’t noticed. 

When he could finally breathe somewhat close to normally, he managed to rasp, “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” Peter answered, still holding him close to his side, and Neal leaned into his warm support gratefully. “Better now?” 

Neal nodded, swiping at his eyes, and hoping Peter would just think it was from his coughing. He should’ve known better. 

“Wanna tell me what was upsetting you? Is that what made you start coughing like that?” Peter asked quietly. _Crap._  

Neal glanced up with as much of an innocent and confused expression as he could muster. “Wh—What’re you talking about?” he responded, hoping it would satisfy Peter. He really should’ve known better. 

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t even think about it, Neal. I saw how you looked when you were just coughing this morning, and it was absolutely nothing like how you look now. So what were you upset about?” 

“ _Dammit_ ,” Neal swore, _almost_ under his breath, and felt Peter tense immediately. 

Before he could try to figure out why, Peter squeezed his arm and said firmly, “Don’t. Just… don’t.” 

He looked up, honestly confused this time, to see Peter’s expression hovering somewhere between baffled and disturbed. “Peter? What?” 

“Just — don’t swear while you’re like this, okay?” 

“What are you—” 

“Just—just don’t, okay? It sounds really _wrong_ when your voice hasn’t even changed,” Peter muttered, not looking at him for the moment. 

Neal choked out a surprised laugh. “Are you _serious_?” he asked, incredulous. 

“Yes,” Peter answered, looking determined. “Just — humor me, okay? And you still haven’t told me what you’re upset about.” _Peter, the Archeologist. Of course._  

He sighed and looked down at the tissues he was still clutching. “I just—” He swallowed, hard. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, about Rachel calling me. I-I didn’t mean to not tell you.” 

Peter tightened his arm around Neal’s shoulders. “That’s what was bothering you? You didn’t have to apologize; I knew you didn’t mean — wait. Why did you think you needed to do that?” 

Neal twisted the tissues further between his fingers, until Peter gently laid his hand over Neal’s and stopped him. 

Peter took the almost-obliterated tissues from Neal’s hands and tossed them into the trash can near the table. “Why, Neal?” 

“I-I didn’t mean to make you mad again. I’m so sorry, I—” He had to stop and swallow painfully, his breath hitching as he tried desperately not to start crying again. 

Peter tightened his grip on his shoulders, and this time, he reached over with his free hand to draw Neal’s head onto his shoulder. Neal swiped at his eyes with his sleeve and tried to pretend like he wasn’t. “Shush. Don’t apologize for that. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not mad at you, either, for the record. I didn’t mean to make you think I was.” 

“You—you’re not?” Neal repeated, looking up at him, verifying his sincerity. “You’re sure? You—you seemed so mad when you left?” 

“I wasn’t mad, buddy, I swear. I was frustrated, but not with you.” Neal ducked his head and sniffled, and Peter pulled his head onto his shoulder and kept his hand on the back of Neal’s hair. “I’d left my phone downstairs, and I was wishing I could have had Jones checking on things with her a few hours earlier, but that’s not your fault. You’ve had a lot going on today, don’t you think?” Neal nodded uncertainly. “I think it’s perfectly reasonable that you didn’t immediately remember that she called. You don’t have anything to apologize for, okay?” Neal gave a slight shrug, and Peter brushed his hair back from his face and peered at him intently. “You look exhausted, kiddo. Why don’t you try to go back to sleep?” 

Neal nodded again, and then yawned suddenly.

 Peter chuckled. “Do you want anything before you go to sleep?” 

Neal started to shake his head, then caught himself. “Could you leave the bottle of water here?” 

~*~  
 

The next time Neal woke, it was Elizabeth sitting beside him, gently stroking his hair away from his face. “Time’s it?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. 

“A little after 2:00,” El replied. “How are you feeling?” 

He shrugged. “About the same. Maybe not quite so achy.” 

El nodded, then reached to the basket on the table and picked up the thermometer. “Okay if I check your temperature again?” He nodded, and she stroked it across his forehead. “Hmmm. 102.4. Well, that’s a bit of an improvement, at least.” She returned the thermometer to the basket, then said, “I thought you might be hungry by now.” 

He shook his head. “Not especially, but I am kinda thirsty.” 

“That’s a start. I’ve got some homemade chicken noodle soup heated up, too. Would you try to eat a little of that?” Neal hesitated, and she added, “If you’ll try, I might even have a surprise for you.” 

He had to grin at her mischievous expression. “As long as that ‘surprise’ isn’t some new flavor of those disgusting kids’ medicines, I’ll try to eat some soup.” 

She chuckled and reached toward his hair, then stopped herself. “I keep doing that — I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?” 

Neal nodded. “Yeah, it-it feels kinda nice,” he answered, embarrassed, but he couldn’t deny that the touches felt reassuring somehow. 

Elizabeth gave him a warm smile as she brushed his hair back. “You won’t refuse to eat if I say your missing teeth are ridiculously cute, will you?” 

“Did you have to mention _that_?” he protested, pushing himself up against the pillows. 

She laughed. “I can’t help it, sweetie. I have to call ‘em as I see ‘em.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Everything else that’s going on, and you’re noticing my _teeth_?” 

El smiled again. “Not just your teeth, of course, but it is cute. Didn’t you tell Peter once about a girl not liking you because of that?” 

Neal stared at her. “He told you that? Wait — you _remember_ that?” 

She laughed. “I don’t remember how it came up, but when I saw you today, I was reminded of it.” 

Neal shook his head. “It feels weird, and the loose one is horribly annoying.” 

“You have a _loose one_?” El responded, and Neal would have sworn she was trying to keep from squealing at him. He didn’t think it was physically possible to roll his eyes as hard as he wanted to. 

“Yeah,” he grumbled, pushing the pillows behind him into a more supportive position. “And it makes eating even less appealing,” he added, knowing it would shift her focus for the moment. 

Now El rolled _her_ eyes. “I’m sure soup won’t require too much chewing,” she replied, completely unfazed. “But I want to show you something before I get your food.” She turned and picked up a shopping bag from the floor. “I did some shopping while I was out. See what you think.” She set the bag in his lap and looked at him expectantly. 

He had no idea why she would be showing him her shopping, but he dutifully looked into the bag. And blinked. He looked up at El, then back into the bag. “You didn’t,” he breathed, and she giggled. 

“Sweetie, you can’t stay in an old sweatshirt and shorts forever. And I figured you might like to have some underwear that fit.” 

Neal was certain his face must be radiating heat. He reached into the bag and pulled out a couple packages of boys’ underwear, some socks, and two pairs of pajamas. “You really didn’t have to do this. I mean, let me at least pay you back or something,” he stammered, still staring at the child-sized clothing and not quite believing he could really wear those things. 

El laughed and patted his hand. “Oh, sweetie, I enjoyed it. And once you’re back to normal, we’ll donate these things to a good cause.” She studied him for a moment, then added, “I got you a few other things, in case you’re feeling better before you’re back to normal.” She set another bag beside him and he looked inside to see some boys’ sweat pants and tee-shirts. “I figured those would do until you felt well enough to go with me to find anything more fitted.” 

Neal could hardly believe she’d expended so much effort on his behalf. “I-I don’t… I didn’t expect…” He stopped and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “S-sorry, I just… thank you. Seriously. Thank you, Elizabeth.” 

She smiled and patted him. “You’re very welcome. I’m glad I could help.” She stood up and moved the bag of sweats and tees to the desk. “Why don’t you change into some pajamas while I get your soup?” she suggested, and Neal nodded. 

“Thank you,” he said again as he picked up the blue pajamas she’d bought and started pushing back the covers so he could change. 

She stopped in the doorway and looked back at him, smiling. “You’re welcome.” And then she left, pulling the door closed behind her. 

* 

When El returned with a tray of food a few minutes later, he was back in bed, wearing his new pajamas. She smiled at him as she entered. “Do they fit okay?” 

He nodded. “ _Much_ better than that sweatshirt,” he answered, then added, “And thank you for not getting superheroes on everything. I’m not sure I could handle cartoons on my underwear again.” 

El laughed delightedly. “I’m happy you approve,” she teased, settling the tray across his lap. 

Once he got a good look at what was on the tray in front of him, he looked up at her in dismay. “El, I — thank you for doing this, really, but… I couldn’t eat this much if I were normal!” 

El chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed. “When I’m sick, nothing really sounds appealing, so I thought having some options might help you feel like eating a little more than only having one thing.” She picked up a napkin from the tray and tucked it into the neck of his pajama shirt before he could protest. “Just eat whatever you feel like eating. I’ll take the rest back downstairs when you’re finished.” He looked back at the tray crammed full of food, and some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, because El laid her hand on his, squeezed it warmly, and waited until he looked at her again. “Sweetie, I am _not_ going to be upset at you, no matter how much you do or don’t eat. Whatever you don’t want, either Peter or Satchmo will help with later, okay?” She smiled reassuringly at him, and he had to smile a little in return as he nodded.

 He picked up his spoon and stirred his soup. “Have you talked to Mozzie?” he asked after a moment, unable to stand the quiet. 

“I did,” El answered as he took a bite of soup. “He hasn’t heard of anything like this, either, but he said he would check some sources and contact me later.” Neal nodded, and El added, “He wanted to see you, but I told him you’d been sleeping, and I didn't know if you felt like visitors. I promised to tell you he wants to hear from you, once you feel up to it.” 

He nodded, but didn’t otherwise respond. He hadn’t really had much hope of Mozzie having ready information on something like this, either, but he couldn’t help being disappointed at the news. He sighed and ate a blueberry from the fruit salad El had provided. 

“Are you okay?” El asked after a moment, and he looked up, surprised that she’d noticed. 

“Yeah, I just…” He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. God, but he hated the way this whole situation made him so damn vulnerable and unable to control his emotions. “I-I don’t even know, El. Everything just seems—” He paused, trying to find the words. 

“Overwhelming?” Elizabeth offered, after a moment. 

“Yeah…” he muttered, staring at the tray of food without really focusing on it. 

“I can only imagine,” El sympathized. “I… well, I sort of have a theory, if you want to hear it?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Well, it seems to me like you’re a version of yourself at eight. I doubt very seriously that you were an average eight-year-old, by anyone’s definition.” She caught his eye and smiled at him, and he had to grin slightly in response. “But now, I think that maybe your eight-year-old brain and body just can’t quite process everything that your adult self has been dealing with, so your defenses and emotions are pretty overwhelmed most of the time. So you’re probably not acting just like you would have at eight, but you also probably didn’t have to cope with the same things you do as an adult then, either.” 

Neal nodded slowly, thinking through how everything had felt since he’d woken up last night. “Yeah, I—I guess that makes sense.” He looked down and stirred his soup thoughtfully, then glanced at El. “Um… thanks,” he said quietly, and she patted his knee affectionately. 

“You’re welcome, sweetie.” 

El’s soup was delicious as usual, even though his illness was definitely affecting both his appetite and his sense of taste. He ate a few more bites of soup, then drank some juice. He grinned at El when he set the glass down. “You remembered,” he said, basking in the fact that she’d bought the cranberry-pomegranate juice he loved. 

She smiled. “Of course I did. There’s almost always some in the pantry for you, if it’s not in the fridge.” 

He stared at her at that bit of news. How had he missed that, before? “Really?” 

“Sweetie, I’ve kept it on hand for ages now.” 

He struggled with the knowledge that she’d kept his favorite available, even though he hadn’t been around as often in recent weeks. Oh, she must be cleaning out the pantry in preparation for their move. “Oh. Um… thank you,” he said quietly, unable to say anything else that would adequately convey his thoughts. 

She patted the covers over his knee. “It’s no problem,” she answered. She watched him in silence as he ate a few bites of the fresh fruit on the tray. “Did I tell you about the most recent Bridezilla we’ve been dealing with?” she asked, and he looked up as he shook his head. 

“Is she worse than the Frankenstein Couple?” he asked, and she laughed. 

“Unbelievably, I think she may be the worst one yet,” she answered, and launched into describing the unimaginable problems that she and Yvonne had been dealing with recently. 

By the time he was caught up on the saga, he was surprised to realize that he’d eaten almost all of his soup and most of the fruit, too. He’d only managed a few bites of the homemade bread she’d included, but he’d still eaten more than he’d thought he could. He was, however, certain that El had intended her story to distract him in just that manner. 

“Are you going to miss working with Yvonne? Are you selling your business?” he asked as he leaned back against the pillows behind him, feeling completely stuffed from all he’d eaten. 

She gave him an odd, appraising look. “Yvonne is taking over most of the business, but I can’t imagine giving it up completely.” 

He nodded. “I’d think that would be hard to do.” 

El glanced at the tray, then back at him. “Are you finished, sweetie?” 

He nodded empathically. “It was delicious, but I can’t eat another bite.” 

El grinned mischievously. “Well, my mom always said that you can always eat ice cream, because it melts and runs in between everything else—” they both laughed “—and I have some _really_ delicious peach and blackberry swirl sorbet. I bet it would do the same thing.” 

Neal grinned at her. “It probably would, but I honestly can’t right now. Maybe later?” 

She smiled again as she picked up the tray. “You’ve got a deal, mister.” At the doorway, she turned back to say, “When I come back, I’ll bring your surprise.” 

Neal blinked at her. “I thought the clothes were what you meant.” 

She chuckled as she shook her head. “Of course not. Clothes aren’t an appropriate surprise for a boy your age.” She winked at him, and he laughed at her teasing. 

He scooted further down in the bed, curling up around his pillow again as he waited for her to return. Sitting up for an extended period of time was draining what little energy he had. 

* 

El returned a couple of minutes later, but only stuck her head in the door. “You have to close your eyes.” 

“Seriously?” he responded, and she mock-pouted at him. 

“Yes. Close your eyes or I won’t give you the surprise.” 

He rolled his eyes, then dutifully closed them. “All right. They’re closed.” He heard El’s soft footsteps, and then something was placed in his lap. “Can I look now?” he asked, a bit petulantly, as El sat on the bed beside him. 

“Yes, you may look,” she answered, her laughter evident in her voice. 

He opened his eyes and discovered a golden-brown teddy bear in his lap. Wearing a dark gray fedora. And a gray-striped tie. He stared for a moment, then laughed in surprise. “You didn’t!” 

El laughed. “I had to. I saw it while I was shopping for your clothes, and I just had to make sure you had something — well, _nice_ happen while you’re this size.” 

He drew the bear closer, marveling at the softness of its fur and the details of the tiny fedora and tie that El had added. “I can’t believe you… I’d have never thought of this. I don’t think I ever—” He caught himself, and glanced at her to see if she’d noticed his almost-slip up. If she did, she wasn’t giving it away. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I really appreciate it.” 

El gave him a warm smile and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.” She was quiet for a moment, then added, “I thought it’d give you something a little more special to hold onto when you’re sleeping.” 

Neal’s face heated up and he tried to look like he had no idea what she was referring to. “It’s great, El,” he answered, and tucked the bear into the bed beside him as though proving his opinion. El gave him a slight smile, and set the bear’s hat on the bedside table. 

She straightened the covers over him, then stroked his hair. “I thought you might…” she paused, took a deep breath, and then said quietly, “I thought you might feel like talking about what’s been bothering you.” 

Neal blinked at her. “I don’t—” he began, but she shook her head at him. 

“Please don’t try to pretend nothing’s wrong. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but I honestly think it might help. Something’s obviously been on your mind, and not just since you woke up like this. I’ve barely seen you lately, and I know things have been… rough in other ways, too. I just thought maybe I could help.” She was looking at him with those beautiful blue eyes so full of caring and concern, and he couldn’t help but feel a swell of emotion in response. “I know you were upset last night, after you woke up—” she began, and he looked up, startled. 

“Wh-how—? How do you know that?” he asked hoarsely. 

El squeezed his hand. “When Peter called me from your place this morning, he sent me a picture of you, asleep, to show me he wasn’t imagining things. It was obvious you’d cried yourself to sleep.” 

Neal felt his face ignite with heat. “Oh, god…” he whispered, ducking his head, but she ignored him and continued. 

“But you didn’t call us, even though you were so upset. And you were upset earlier when you thought Peter was angry at you. Sweetie, I _know_ something’s bothering you. I just want to help if I can, okay?” 

“I—El, I—” He had to stop and swallow, hard, to try to get his throat to work properly. He stared at the bear beside him, and lightly stroked the soft fur with his fingers. El sat silently beside him, her hand resting warmly on his knee, waiting for him to speak. He toyed with the bear’s tie, trying to get his thoughts together. He actually wished he _could_ talk to El, even though he couldn’t tell her everything. Maybe, just maybe, he could get her to understand how much he regretted everything that had happened. “I—I don’t know where to start,” he finally whispered. 

“What’s the first thing that comes to mind, sweetie?” 

“P-Peter,” he answered immediately. “I just… I know I’ve screwed up, over and over, and I don’t b-blame him for being tired of saving my a—butt,” he corrected himself. He wasn’t sure if El shared Peter’s aversion to kids swearing, but he didn’t want to take that chance at the moment. “I just—I just wish things weren’t ending like this.” He rubbed at his eyes with one hand, trying to stop them burning. It didn’t help — the burning merely turned into tears that he couldn’t hold back. 

“Like what?” El prompted as he scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the tears that were trickling out. 

He sighed, letting his eyes close for a moment. “With him regretting everything. I’m sure he wishes he wasn’t responsible for me _now_ , too, but I—I hate that he regrets ever taking my deal.” 

“Sweetie, what on earth makes you think _that_?” El’s hand moved to his shoulder and started rubbing gently across his upper back. 

“He-he told Clinton not to take me on, that he’d regret it. And the-the way he said it, it sounded like…” Neal turned his face away, burrowing in between his pillow and the bear as he choked out the words. “W-With everything that’s happened, and it’s all my fault — none of this would have happened if it weren’t for me.” 

“Neal, sweetie, it’s not your fault,” El soothed, but he shook his head emphatically. 

“Yes, yes, it is, El. None of it would have happened if P-Peter hadn’t taken my deal, if he hadn’t tried to help me with—with _James_ ,” he spat out the name. “It’s all because of _me_ ,” he argued, unable to hold back the sobs any longer. “And now he’s stuck with me like _this_ , too. You’ve b-both been really n-nice, but neither of you signed up for this! I can’t b-blame him for wishing he’d never agreed to let me w-work with him.” He instinctively clutched at the bear as he cried, attempting to hide as much as possible. 

“I don’t think Peter—” El began, but she was interrupted. 

“ _Neal. George. Caffrey_.” Peter’s voice. Stern and deep. His patented “Caffrey, you are in _big_ trouble” voice, even if he’d never said Neal’s full name like that before. 

Neal cringed and looked up through the haze of tears to find Peter standing in the doorway, fists on his hips, and giving Neal a look that plainly indicated he was not happy with him. “I better not _ever_ hear you say such a thing again, do you understand?” he asked, walking toward the bed, his eyes never leaving Neal’s face. 

“Wh-what — I don’t—” Neal began, but before he could truly begin to protest, Peter bent over, slid his hands around Neal’s ribs, and lifted him out of bed. He parked Neal on his hip and held him firmly, one hand gripping Neal’s arm, making it clear that Neal wasn’t going anywhere. 

“I want you to listen to me, and I want you to make absolutely certain you remember three things,” Peter continued, as though Neal had never attempted to speak. “You remember this, and don’t you _ever_ doubt it, you hear me?” There was a warmth in Peter’s eyes that didn’t seem to mesh with the sternness he was demonstrating, and Neal nodded uncertainly. He knew better than to interrupt Peter in this mode, but he was completely baffled as to what he was talking about. One of his hands was clinging to Peter’s shirt, and he was only dimly aware that his other hand was still gripping the bear El had given him, and it was wedged in between his body and Peter’s chest. 

“First of all, I haven’t _ever_ regretted taking your deal for even a moment. There have been moments of frustration and anger, but not regret, you got that?” Neal nodded, reaching up with one hand to swipe at his eyes, and Peter then tapped a finger beneath Neal’s chin, getting him to look at Peter again. “And second, I know that things have been pretty crappy lately, but that doesn’t change one very important thing: you are _family_. Family doesn’t stop just because things get rocky. They may not agree on something, they may have arguments and not get along for a while, but when they’re needed, they’re still there. And you, buddy, are _family_. I think you have been since around the time I first found you on my couch with El.” He gave Neal a hint of a smile, then, and Neal tried to return it, but he didn’t think he quite pulled it off. “Don’t forget that, Neal, _ever_ , okay?” He waited until Neal nodded shakily, and then said, “I’m sorry if I rattled you even more when I came in here. I wanted to make sure I _really_ got your attention, okay?” 

Neal let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Okay,” he whispered. 

Peter’s hand moved to his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. “Even more than those things, though, I want you to know that this is the most important thing.” Peter paused and took a deep breath. “I want you to remember all of this and don’t ever doubt it: _we love you_. You are our family, and we love you.” Peter’s warm brown eyes were gleaming with unshed tears now, staring into Neal’s face as though he could will Neal into believing what he was saying. And for just a moment, Neal was _almost_ grateful to be a child — if only because he was certain Peter wouldn’t have been able to tell him these things if he had remained normal. “Don’t you ever doubt that for a second, okay?” Peter continued, and Neal nodded again, unable to speak as tears streamed down his cheeks. Peter released his grip on Neal’s shoulder and, instead, pulled him closer, his hand warm on the back of Neal’s neck, and Neal crumpled. He threw his arms around Peter’s neck and bawled uncontrollably into his shoulder. 

* 

He wasn’t sure how long Peter simply stood there and held him. The next time he was truly aware of his position, Peter was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, and holding Neal in his lap while Neal continued to cry into his shirt. El was sitting beside Peter, occasionally stroking Neal’s hair. At some point, the soft blue blanket El had added to the bed that morning had been wrapped around him, but he had no idea when or how it had happened. He was too overcome with months of suppressed emotions to have noticed. And he couldn’t stop. No matter how much he wished he wasn’t bawling into Peter’s chest, he couldn’t seem to hold back the flood any longer. He scrubbed at his eyes and managed to hiccup, “I-I’m sorry, Peter, I’m sorry.” 

Peter tightened his arms around Neal, one hand still cradling the back of Neal’s head, and said quietly, “For what?” 

“I-I know you h-hate c-crying. I’m s-sorry,” he choked out. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Peter said softly, brushing his hand over Neal’s hair. “You don’t ever have to apologize for what you’re feeling, kiddo, no matter what size you are.” Neal could hear the teasing tone in Peter’s voice, and he managed a ghost of a smile in response. 

He glanced up at Peter, then ducked his head. He couldn’t look at Peter if he ever hoped to get out what he wanted to say. “I-I’m s-sorry for… for everything else, too. I-I wanted to tell you about H-Hagen a-and ev-everything th-that h-happened, b-but I c-couldn’t. I d-don’t ex-pect you to ever for-give me, b-but I’m s-sorry.” There was more, so much more, he wished he could say, but he had no idea how to begin to explain anything to Peter without revealing things he knew Peter didn’t actually want to know. 

Peter just held him close for several moments, then said quietly, “I’ve been thinking today about things between us, actually. And I realized that there’s something about your situation that we can use to our advantage, if you want to.” 

“W-what?” Neal asked, looking up at Peter, trying to read his expression. 

“Well, for one thing, I’m not wearing my badge,” Peter began, meeting Neal’s gaze. “And even if I were, I don’t think there’s a prosecutor anywhere in the country that would pursue charges for anything I said that included the words, ‘My CI confessed when he was eight.’” He grinned as he spoke, and Neal coughed out a surprised snort of amusement. “I think that pretty well guarantees you’ve got full immunity for anything you want to talk about.” 

“Really?” Neal breathed, hardly daring to believe it was possible. 

“Really,” Peter stated firmly. “You know, for two guys as smart as we are, we keep doing one really dumb thing over and over: we try to outsmart each other, or hide things from each other, instead of just asking each other what the hell is going on, and then telling each other the truth. I think partners are supposed to do better than that.” 

Neal wiped his face with the sleeve of his pajama shirt and peered up at Peter, then frowned as he spoke. “That sounds like s-something El would s-say.” 

El giggled as Peter grinned. “Well, I _am_ smart enough to know when my wife is right, at least.” Neal couldn’t help but grin back, and El ruffled his hair, then handed him several tissues from the table beside her. Neal murmured his thanks and put them to good use. 

When he’d finished mopping at his face, El took them from him and handed him a bottle of Gatorade. “Drink some before you start talking again,” she advised, and he obeyed. He was amazed at how much it helped his throat. 

“So, um… what do you want to talk about first?” Neal asked hesitantly, once he’d finished drinking and El set the bottle aside. 

Peter gave him a warm smile this time. “Where do you think we need to start? We seemed to do pretty well for a while, but then…” He trailed off, and Neal nodded. 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Then we kinda self-destructed.” 

Peter nodded in agreement. “So… when do you think we went wrong?” 

Neal thought for a moment, then said, “When James showed up. Around then, at least. I mean, after the island, we were good, I thought. And then… after Ellen died, I thought James was the only way to learn what happened. But you just assumed immediately that I’d broken our promise. I was… well, hurt, but then he disappeared, and I just… I felt like you didn’t trust me, in spite of everything. And we got better, but then—” 

El cut in. “Then I asked you to keep Peter out of things, which obviously worked so well!” She shook her head, still not happy with the way things had turned out. 

Peter shifted Neal on his lap in order to wrap his arm around El, too, and Neal said, “But you weren’t the only thing, El. I wanted to keep Peter safe, too. And we were still okay, until…” 

Peter shook his head and cut in. “Until you stole the gold, right after I got out.” 

Neal ducked his head guiltily. “Yeah. But… you’d just told me you were proud of me, for the first time, and then…” He paused and swiped at his eyes. “But then, you-you just knew I was guilty. And I didn’t know what you knew, and it just felt like…” 

“Like I didn’t trust you at all,” Peter put in. 

Neal nodded and sighed. “Yeah. Again. Like you said, we keep doing that.” 

El shook her head. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do whatever it took. I’m so sorry, Neal. I still don’t know why I thought I should tell you that. I was desperate, but I should have known you were already trying to help.” 

Neal put his hand on her arm. “It’s not your fault. I _was_ trying to find a way to help Peter, anyway. I couldn’t stand that it was because of James.” He looked up at Peter, remembering how desperately he’d wanted to protect his friend — _his family_. “You’d already risked so much, telling me to run from Kramer, and then finding me to protect me from Collins — I couldn’t let you go to jail because of James! Or lose your career because of me! I couldn’t!” He had to stop and swallow repeatedly, trying to get some control over his emotions. “El didn’t have to tell me I owed you, or to do whatever it took — I was trying! Mozzie and I looked everywhere for James. I told him to do the right thing—” 

Peter cut in again. “You told James?! When did you see him?” 

Neal nodded, still trying to stop the tears. “That day, after they arrested you. I came home, and he was there. I tried to get him to confess, to get you off, but he refused, said he wasn’t going back. He told me not to make him do something he’d regret—” 

“He _threatened_ you?! Was he armed?” Peter demanded. 

“I-I never saw the gun, but he acted like it was in his pocket.” 

Before Peter could respond, El asked, “So what did you and Mozzie do?” 

“We were brain storming when Hagen texted me. I didn’t know it was him until I got to the rendezvous. He already had the prosecutor willing to let you off, if I provided some evidence.” 

Peter put a hand on Neal’s arm, stopping him. “Wait. You let me believe that you bribed him,” he accused. 

Neal shook his head. “I never said that. I just gave him something he could use to get you off.” 

Peter sighed at the deflection. “How did you do it?” 

“Mozzie got software like Sara’s —” 

“—Of course he did!” Peter interjected, rolling his eyes, and El giggled at his indignant expression. 

“—And I had a voicemail from James,” Neal continue, ignoring the interruption, “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, except that I was him. Everything else was true. I couldn’t let you give up your career because of me, I c-couldn’t!” His voice broke, and he turned his face toward Peter’s shoulder as he tried desperately not to cry yet again, but unable to completely stop himself. 

Peter’s arms tightened around him. “Shhh. It’s okay,” he said softly, one hand brushing over Neal’s hair. A moment later, El’s hand began gently rubbing across his shoulders. 

After a few moments, Peter asked, “What else happened with Hagen? Do you think he and Rachel were working together then?” 

Neal shrugged as he scrubbed at his face. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t surprise me. He said I had to get the payment for the prosecutor—” 

“—The gold,” Peter supplied, sighing. 

“—Right. And he set it up so I’d really only have one way in — it’s what tipped you off, too. And he recorded me.” Neal sighed and shifted in Peter’s embrace, looking down at the somewhat damp teddy bear that was in his lap, though he scarcely remembered how it had managed to stay with him. 

“He was blackmailing you?!” El asked, looking startled. 

Neal nodded. “Yeah. Everything else was about that. The Codex, everything. It was all because of him. And Rachel, I suppose, but he was involved, regardless of who was deciding everything.” 

Peter chimed in. “What happened to the recording?” 

“I got it from Rachel the night you arrested her. I destroyed the thumb drive. She said it was the only copy.” 

El patted his knee, then handed him more tissues. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t bribe the prosecutor?” Peter asked, and Neal could tell he was trying to remain calm. 

He finished scrubbing at his face for the moment, and El took the tissues from him. “I-I didn’t think you’d believe me, and I was afraid you’d report it if I told you, and we’d be right back with you in jeopardy. And it would have been incriminating about what I did do. And… then you called in Siegel. And put on a new anklet. I just… I didn’t think you trusted me enough for me to tell you,” Neal answered, his fingers idly toying with the tie on the bear. He couldn’t look at Peter or El at the moment, or he knew he’d lose what little control on his emotions he had left. 

Peter squeezed his shoulders and said quietly, “And I called you a criminal, said I shouldn’t have expected anything else.” 

“Yes,” Neal all-but-whispered in the smallest voice possible. 

“I’m so sorry, Neal, I was stupid and frustrated and angry and I knew I hurt you, and I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry. El’s right. Sometimes, we’re really, really stupid.” Peter gave a huge sigh, still holding him close, and then asked, “Do you want to know why I called in Siegel, tried to change things up?” 

“Yes?” Neal answered tentatively as El reached over to brush his hair out of his face. 

Peter sighed again, and rubbed a hand over his face. “I was scared. I was worried sick. I’d just spent six weeks in lock-up. It wasn’t as bad as where you were, but it was bad enough. I was safe, I was protected, but it made me even more worried about you ever going back. You know how you couldn’t stand the idea of me losing my career? That’s about how badly I couldn’t stand the idea of you going back. If they sent you there, it would be for a long, long time. I couldn’t stand that. You don’t belong in a place like that, ever again. It would break our hearts if that happened to you, and again every time we visited you—” 

“—you’d visit?” Neal couldn’t help interjecting. 

El leaned over to make sure he met her eyes as she squeezed his hand. “Of course we would. You’re family, remember? But it would break our hearts to have you there, as well as worry us sick. Neither of us want that to ever happen, okay?” He nodded, almost automatically. 

Peter’s hand came up to stroke his hair, then guided his head onto Peter’s shoulder. “I couldn’t stand the idea of you being there,” Peter continued, his voice warm and caring. “And I get out, and almost immediately, it looked like things were worse than they’d been in a long time: you just stole something so damn huge, and I had no idea how to protect you. I was scared — for you, for El and me. After being in there, I was afraid that I wouldn’t have any way to save either of us if something went wrong again. The only thing I could think of was to try to get someone new in — maybe it’d change things up enough that it’d keep you straight for a while. I just — I was scared sick for all of us. And things just kept getting worse, and I didn’t know how to fix them. And then Siegel got killed, and… things were spiraling out of any damn _possibility_ of control, and I was as lost as I’d ever been since we started working together. I didn’t know what the hell I should do.” 

Neal prodded Peter in the chest. “Hey,” he said, unable to resist the temptation, and hoping to lighten the mood just a bit. “Don’t swear in front of the kid.” 

Peter snorted a laugh. “All right, I suppose that’s fair,” he replied, shaking his head in amusement. 

El sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m still trying to comprehend how the idea of just _talking_ to each other never occurred to the smartest men I know.” 

“I couldn’t!” Neal protested before Peter could begin to answer. “I thought — I thought you were ready to be done with me. That that was why you were changing things up, and talking about going to D.C. I thought you’d g-given up on me.” 

“Oh, sweetie…” El began, but Peter interrupted her, using one finger beneath Neal’s chin, getting him to meet Peter’s intense gaze. 

“ _Never_!” Peter stated firmly. “You’re my partner, and my family. We’ve done a _really_ lousy job of showing that lately, I know, and we’re going to change some things. We’re going to figure out a code or something for when you need to talk to me off the record or with immunity. I don’t know what, but—” 

“—Can I see your badge?” Neal interrupted as inspiration struck. 

“—My badge? I don’t—” 

“—No, that’s our code. ‘Can I see your badge?’ can be our code for me needing to talk to you.” 

Peter’s eyes lit up. “Yes! That’s good—” he began, but then it was El’s turn to interrupt. 

“But you both have to _use_ it,” she chimed in, pointing her finger in mock-sternness at each of them. “And you both better remember that it also means you need to tell the truth and stop trying to hide things from each other, too.” 

Peter gave her an almost sheepish grin. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and then they both looked expectantly at Neal. “Right?” Peter prompted. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered hesitantly, and El smiled and squeezed his hand. 

Peter picked up the topic again. “So, right. That’ll be the code that you need to trust me with something, and I need to trust you to tell me, okay?” Neal nodded, and Peter met his gaze seriously. “And I’m still so sorry I hurt you, Neal. I wish I could say I didn’t mean it, but I was so angry and frustrated, I probably did at the time. But I wouldn’t hurt you like that on purpose for anything. I’m so sorry. We’re going to make things different from now on, I swear—” 

“For two weeks?” Neal blurted, then clamped a hand over his mouth. _Dammit_. He hadn’t meant to say what he’d been thinking. This all sounded too good to be true, honestly, and the Burkes’ impending move to D.C. pretty much cemented that, as far as he could tell. 

Peter blinked at him for a moment, looking confused. “What? Oh — uh — no, actually,” he replied. He glanced at El, then took her hand in his, and tightened his other arm around Neal. “We—uh—we have something to tell you about that. Earlier, while you were asleep, El and I made some phone calls. We’re not going to D.C. I turned down the job there.” 

“ _What_?” Neal gasped, staring at them both in disbelief. 

El picked up where Peter had left off, and said calmly, “I made a deal with the National Gallery: I’ll be splitting my time between D.C. and BPE. I can work from home some, and I’ll be going to D.C. for a day or two at a time.” 

“But… you… you both wanted those jobs! You deserve them!” Neal protested, his eyes darting back and forth between them, looking for a sign that he was imagining all this. “Y-you can’t give them up!” 

Peter regarded him seriously. “The happiest I have ever been at work has been working as your partner. I’m not ready to give that up. And, you know, I do own you for four years, and that’s not up yet.” Peter’s eyes glinted in amusement at the gentle teasing. 

Elizabeth chimed in, “And I’m not ready to give up BPE. This way, I don’t have to.” 

“But… you can’t give them up! You—” 

Peter stopped him by holding up his hand for quiet. “I will admit that you being sick helped us to think about some things differently, but we both realized we’d been thinking those things anyway. I’m not ready to completely give up field work. Jones is going to take on some of the administrative stuff, too, and I’ll still be able to do field work, as well as the desk stuff. I wasn’t looking forward to all the meetings and desk work in D.C., even though it was a tempting offer. And there’s no way I should be rewarded with a big promotion and leave you here. We’re a team, and I’m not going to break that up.” 

Neal looked back and forth between them, trying to fight back the wave of emotions at their pronouncement and also trying to make absolutely sure they were certain, too. “You’re sure? Both of you?” 

They both nodded. “Absolutely,” Peter answered, just as El said, “Definitely.” 

Peter grinned and wrapped his arms tightly around both Neal and El. “You’re stuck with us, kiddo,” he said, “I hope you’re okay with that.” 

Neal nodded as El smiled at him warmly. “I think you’re stuck with me, too, Butch.” 

El laughed at the nickname, while Peter chuckled. “Does that make me Etta?” El asked, grinning, and Neal laughed as Peter scowled. 

Before he could reply, Peter chimed in, “Not unless you’re leaving me for _him_ ,” he grumbled. 

El laughed again and teased, “Didn’t she… hmm… _spend time_ with both of them?” Neal coughed to try to cover up his giggle at Peter’s indignant scowl, and Peter poked him good-naturedly. 

“Watch it, buddy,” he grumbled, as Neal squealed at the finger in his ribs. Peter looked surprised, then laughed. “Oh, just _wait_ till you’re not sick…” he teased. 

Neal stuck his tongue out at Peter, making all three of them laugh. Then El handed him the bottle of Gatorade again. “Drink some more, and then you need to sleep,” she instructed. While he was dutifully drinking, she brushed his hair from his face. “Do you want anything else before you try to rest a while?” 

He shook his head. “No, I’m good, thanks.” 

“Okay,” she replied, and stood up. “I’ll be right back.” 

Peter nodded at her, and smoothed the blanket over Neal’s legs. “I guess I ought to get off you now, huh?” he asked rhetorically, but Peter stopped him when he squirmed. 

“You’re fine,” he answered, tucking the blanket around Neal’s feet. “You don’t have to go anywhere.” 

Before he could respond, El returned with a wet washcloth in her hand. She sat down beside them and started to wipe Neal’s face. He looked up in surprise and tried to take it from her, but she just smiled and used her other hand to push his away. “Just close your eyes,” she said softly, and he sighed and gave in. 

When she’d finished, she took the empty Gatorade bottle from his hand. “Do you think you can sleep okay now?” she asked and he looked up and nodded, realizing just then how tired he truly felt. He wasn’t surprised that his headache was back with a vengeance, after all the crying he’d been doing, but it was already lessening now that he had finally been able to stop. 

She and Peter shifted around, helping him lie down and straighten the blankets. Peter gently ruffled his hair as El leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Get some sleep, buddy,” Peter said quietly, and Neal nodded as El turned off the lamp beside the bed. He was asleep before they’d left the room… 

~*~  
 

His fever finally broke later that night, and his recovery went smoothly thereafter. But by Sunday night, he was still a child, and he and Peter sat on the living room couch and discussed what to do about work the following day. Mozzie hadn’t been able to find anything helpful, and no one had any idea how to get him back to normal. 

Mozzie had offered to “babysit” Neal the following day while Peter and El worked, but that had been vetoed immediately by Peter on the grounds that he wasn’t leaving Mozzie unsupervised in their home. Neal had protested that he was still perfectly capable of staying by himself, but that was met with a resounding veto almost as quickly as Mozzie’s offer. 

Peter’s best idea was to say that he’d caught Neal’s flu and that Neal was still recovering, which should buy them at least a couple more days. Neal didn’t like the idea very well, but under the circumstances, it seemed like the best option. 

“So you agree?” Peter pressed, and Neal nodded tiredly. He was feeling much better, but he had been dismayed to find that, even though he was feeling mostly well again, he still seemed to be dead tired at a much earlier time of evening than he usually did. Peter smirked at him whenever he started yawning at “bedtime,” so he did his best to hide the fact as much as possible. He had a feeling that he wasn’t fooling Peter — or El, for that matter — at all, but somehow, it was endearing to be known so well. 

It was just past nine p.m., and he was already in his pajamas (at El’s insistence), curled up on the couch beside Peter with a cup of El’s Famous Cocoa and a blanket. The cool, wet weather had continued the last few days, and the additional warmth was most welcome. 

With their decision made, for the moment at least, Peter patted him on the shoulder, then picked up the remote and turned on ESPN. Neal rolled his eyes at the ever-so-predictable action, but hid his expression in his cup of cocoa. 

He had no idea when he actually fell asleep, but he half-woke as Peter was carrying him upstairs. He was deposited carefully into his bed, and Peter pulled the blankets over him, then tucked his bear in beside him. He couldn’t help but grin at that, and Peter noticed. “I thought you were asleep,” Peter said softly, sitting down beside him and brushing his hand over Neal’s hair. 

“I was,” Neal murmured. He blinked his eyes open and looked up at Peter. “Thanks, Peter,” he said quietly, meeting those warm brown eyes. “For everything. I-I never expected…” he paused, searching for the right words, “I didn’t think things would ever get back like they were, but you and El… you’ve made things even better. I can’t ever thank you both enough for that.” 

Peter gave him an affectionate smile, his hand still on Neal’s hair. “You, too, buddy. I can’t tell you how glad I am to have ‘us’ back, even better than before.” Neal felt warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the blankets Peter had draped over him. He smiled contentedly, and let his eyes close again. Peter sat beside him, gently stroking his hair, as he slipped back into sleep… 

 

… and awoke abruptly as a flash of heat seared through him. He sat up, gasping for breath. And groaned at the flare of pain behind his eyes. _Not again!_ He rubbed his forehead, then rubbed his eyes tiredly. At least he didn’t feel sick again. Maybe it was just some sort of weird side-effect of having been ill? After a few moments, he felt better, and lay back down — only to bolt back upright with a strangled yell when the coolness of the sheets made him suddenly realize he was naked. 

He quickly reached out for the bedside lamp — and reached it easily. Frowning in confusion, he flicked it on, just as his door burst open and Peter entered with El right on his heels. Neal gave a definite _squawk_ of surprise, and Peter and El stopped dead just inside the doorway and _stared_. Neal glanced downward and realized they were staring at his naked torso just as Peter managed to sputter, “Y-you’re — you’re _you_.” El gave a slight push on Peter’s shoulder, urging him to move out of the way. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer, and he instinctively clutched at the covers. 

“I-I’m f-fine, I think,” he stammered, “b-but I—I don’t know what happened to my clothes.” 

El covered her mouth with her hand as she smiled, trying not to laugh. Peter had no such inclinations. He snorted, then chuckled outright at Neal’s obvious embarrassment. Neal leveled a glare at him, but before he could say anything, El came to his rescue. “Hon, give him a break. Neal, we’ll wait outside till you get dressed.” She grabbed the sleeve of Peter’s tee-shirt and pulled him into the hall, closing the door behind them. 

Neal located some of his pajamas in the bag Peter had packed for him, dressed quickly, then opened the bedroom door. El gave him a dazzling smile, then wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Welcome back,” she murmured against his shoulder as he returned the hug. 

“Thanks.” He glanced up to see Peter looking at them, his expression just as warm and welcoming as El’s had been. When El released him, Peter pulled him into an even tighter hug, holding him close for several moments. 

“I think we all need some cocoa,” El said decisively, and started down the stairs. Peter gave Neal an amused grin as they followed her. 

* 

They sat on the couch, Satchmo happily snoring at their feet, to drink their cocoa. “I guess we don’t get to play hooky tomorrow after all,” Neal said, glancing at Peter as he blew into his cocoa to cool it, disturbing the marshmallows floating there. 

Peter shook his head. “It’s already arranged. We’ll just enjoy a day off before jumping back into things. We can work on some case files from here.” 

“Really?” Neal asked doubtfully, finding it hard to believe that Peter was being so casual about this. 

Peter nodded decisively. “Yep. Jones can handle things one more day.” 

“Okay…” Neal sipped his cocoa, his brain still spinning, trying to process everything that had happened the last few days. He knew he’d never forget how it had felt to have Peter and Elizabeth taking such good care of him — _wanting_ to take care of him. And even though he obviously didn’t need them the same way now that he was normal again, it still felt like they would, if he needed them. He didn’t know when he’d last felt that, with anyone. 

And with that realization, he also realized there was something else he needed them to know. He cleared his throat nervously. “Um… I-I realized I never really replied to what you said earlier, about family?” He didn’t quite know why he managed to make that sound like a question, but it did. They both looked at him expectantly, but didn’t interrupt. He stared at his hands, wrapped around his mug. “I-I haven’t ever had much of a conventional family, but… well, conventional or not, I couldn’t imagine anyone I’d want to claim as family more than both of you.” He took a deep breath. There was no way he could look at them and still get this out. “And-and I-I love you both,” he managed to get the words out, but his voice was barely above a whisper. 

Peter wrapped an arm around his shoulders from one side, giving him a strong hug, and El leaned into his other side and pressed a kiss against his cheek while she squeezed his arm. “We know, sweetie,” she said softly, leaning her cheek against his shoulder for a moment. 

He cleared his throat, swallowing hard to get his voice to work again. He needed them to know something else, and it was just as important in its own way. “C-Can I tell you something that’s not crime-related? I mean, if it’s okay — can I see your badge, first?” 

They both smiled at him warmly, and Peter mimed handing him his badge from his pajama pocket. “Let’s just assume the immunity stands until we’re back at work like normal,” he replied, giving Neal that same fond smile he’d worn a lot the last few days. 

Neal took a deep breath and stared into his cocoa cup. “I-I took the $2 million from Dr. Summers, but I took it for Mozzie.” 

“Why Mozzie?” The Archaeologist beside him couldn’t help but ask, apparently. 

“It’s a long story but, after the Teddy Winters thing, he needed the money. I can tell you the rest later, okay?” Peter nodded, and Neal continued, “But after I gave it to him, Mozzie asked if I was coming back to the life. I told him maybe. And I told him I had too many ties on me, and I wanted to cut them. He asked which ones, and I told him, ‘Eventually, all of them.’ I thought — I thought there wasn’t any reason for me to stay here anymore, that I shouldn’t stay with the Bureau. I didn’t think it mattered to you like before.” 

“You were going to leave?” Peter asked, looking stunned at Neal’s admission. 

Neal nodded and rubbed at his forehead tiredly. “At some point. I-I didn’t have a definite timeframe in mind, but I just knew that I couldn’t stay with things like they were. I didn’t want to never be able to come back to New York, but… but it didn’t feel like ‘home’ anymore, and I couldn’t stay like that.” 

El took his hand in hers and met his gaze. “Does it feel more like home now?” 

Neal nodded again, staring at her, and for once, hoping that she could see what he meant, what he felt, as he answered, “I think so. I want it to be.” 

El’s eyes were full of emotion, too. “Do you think you can trust us to help it feel like home again, like family?” 

Neal smiled, feeling just a hint of tears in his eyes, and nodded. “I-I realized I’d forgotten something. I trust you both to be family, but…” He paused and looked at Peter, meeting the warmth in Peter’s eyes. “I forgot that, even when there isn’t trust, there’s faith. I have faith in both of you. I just needed to be reminded of that.” 

Peter hugged him tightly, and El wrapped her arms around them both. “I think we all needed that reminder, buddy,” Peter said softly, “Keep the faith, right?” 

 

~***~

  

 ** _Epilogue:  
_**  

Peter ran up just as they were about to load Neal into the ambulance. “Neal!” His face was flushed from running. 

“Peter…” Neal groaned, lifting a hand toward his head. “Keller?” he asked. 

Peter’s face clouded. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Neal. He’s dead.” 

“What? How?” Neal asked, struggling against the hands that were holding him down on the gurney. 

“A LEO got him after he threatened to shoot a by-stander. I’ll find out more later. How are _you_?” Peter asked, leaning in closely. 

“Okay. I whacked my head when I fell, but I’m okay.” Peter glanced at the paramedic who was checking Neal, and the guy nodded. 

“Good, but you’re getting checked out, and I’m going with you,” Peter said decisively as the EMTs loaded Neal inside, and Peter climbed up beside him… 

* 

When Neal and Peter entered the Burke home a few hours later, El, Mozzie, June, Clinton and Diana were already there. A general cheer rose from the group, and Neal waved tiredly in response as Peter leaned in to give El a kiss. 

Mozzie presented them both with glasses of champagne, and June waved them toward the dining table, where a cake sat waiting. Neal stepped closer and laughed when he saw the cake — showing a bird flying from a cage, and the words, “Freedom at Last.” 

They all raised their glasses in a toast, and Peter began. “Thank you all for being here, and for all you’ve done to make sure the Panthers won’t ever hurt anyone again. We couldn’t have done it without each of you.” He glanced at Mozzie then, and nodded. 

Mozzie grinned as he said, “To freedom.” 

Peter met Neal’s eyes, and added, “To family.” 

Neal smiled and stated firmly, “To faith.” 

 

~THE END~

 

** Notes: **

I have to thank my wonderful, amazing friends for all their help and encouragement on this. Thanks so much: to [china_shop](http://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop/works?fandom_id=13438), for her amazing beta help, even when she really didn’t feel well; to [jet44](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jet44/pseuds/Jet44), for being such a wonderful cheerleader and friend; to [Allie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alliekiwi/pseuds/alliekiwi), for always, always being ready to help when I need it; and especially to [Kanarek13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanarek13/pseuds/Kanarek13), not only for her incredible, amazing talent with art, but for being just as talented and amazing as a friend and cheerleader/encourager. *GLOMPS* you all!

 

~*~


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